


we're free to roam

by sxldato



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Adderall Abuse, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Asexual Character, Character(s) of Color, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Mental Health Issues, Non-Explicit References to Porn, Personality Swap, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Prison, Series Spoilers, Tattoos, but its a lil gay lets be real, elliot is the embodiment of a downward spiral into madness, someone save him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7959253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxldato/pseuds/sxldato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“You look nervous, cuz. Don’t be. Just do you. I mean, I’d say we got a pretty solid rapport going on anyway. We stick together, things’ll be just fine.”</em>
</p><p>Prison can be rough, which is why you should always use the buddy system.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'd never have predicted i'd pull this outta my ass before summer ended tbh this is a miracle  
> i've been in such a slump for so many reasons and i haven't written mr robot in over a year so this was a nice change of pace and i feel good about it sort of?? ya  
> the chapters aren't going to build off one another like a normal multi-chapter fic would, it's gonna be more like 4 closely-related short pieces about elliot and leon and,, prison shenanigans  
> this is gonna cover some lowkey serious stuff but overall it's just gonna be sweet and cute and a lil gay??? i just want these kids to be happy oml  
> beta'd holy cow  
> the title is from White Ferrari by Frank Ocean and the analysis of the full line is sO GOOD and it's why i chose it so i'll put a link to it in the end notes if y'all are interested ok

"It's been like, two weeks," Leon notified him during breakfast. "You sure all you want is that notebook?"

It was an off day, and on off days Elliot would take the notebook with him for some semblance of stability instead of leaving it in his room. It sat on the table next to his tray, the black and white marble pattern twisting in front of his eyes. He was glad Leon never asked what he wrote in it; he wasn't sure he could give a concise answer. 

"I'm fine." 

Leon was squinting at him, and Elliot felt thoroughly fucked because Leon was smart as a whip and read people quick as comic strips in newspapers.

"You know, most guys usually be askin' for porn up front, first thing. But not you."

Elliot shrugged.

Leon leaned over the table a little, lowered his voice. "You got a weird kink or something? 'Cause there's not much I haven't heard of." 

Elliot shook his head. Leon's questioning was starting to make him anxious, stifled and hot under the orange jumpsuit-- anxious not because he didn't want to answer, but because (as per usual) he didn't know how to explain. 

"You ever actually  _watch_ porn, cuz?"

Elliot nodded. He wasn't lying; he'd come across it by accident once. It was hard not to when you hacked in your spare time. But he'd hated it. It felt like he was seeing something private, something even he, expert pryer that he was, shouldn't have been prying into. It hadn't been anything new though, not really. Overdramatic bullshit was a common theme in big industries. The only difference was that this industry involved throbbing nine-inch dicks. 

"Guess it didn't vibe with you, huh." 

Elliot shook his head again. 

"Why's that? I mean, economically speaking, it's way cheaper relaxant than morphine. It'd make more sense for you to beat your meat to pay-per-view instead of blowing it on pills, you know?"

Yeah, Leon could read people real quick. It hadn't taken him long to find Elliot's vice, and even less time to figure out that Elliot preferred listening rather than talking. Leon was pretty good about that, filling both sides of a conversation. If Elliot didn't want to talk, Leon wouldn't ask him to. 

But sometimes Leon would ask 'why' like a petulant child (Leon couldn't have been older than twenty-two, he  _was_ a kid, they were both just kids). The results would vary depending on Elliot's quota of patience. 

Apparently, today was Leon's lucky day. 

"I'm just not interested," he muttered. His hands were clasped tight in his lap. God, he was jittery. "Never have been." 

Mr. Robot snickered from somewhere behind him. He closed his eyes and asked Mr. Robot if he could keep his goddamn mouth shut, please and thank you. 

"Dude, I told you, I could hook you up with some gay stuff no problem--" 

"That's not--" wow, no, that was way too loud-- "that's not what I meant." 

Leon thought, and thought, and Elliot and Mr. Robot watched him from the other side of the table with masked apprehension. 

"Always with the masks," Mr. Robot commented. "Sure, I'm not real, but neither is half the shit that comes out of your mouth. Why don't we quit lying to people for a change?"

Leon asked him "is it porn you don't like, or sex in general?" and Elliot was off the bench and out the door with Mr. Robot in tow, laughing at a joke that Elliot didn't understand. 

-

He stayed in his room for a while and tried to write in his journal, but his hand was unresponsive. Rather than words, it would begin to sketch a woman's almond-shaped eyes, the slope of her nose, her smile. Electric and gentle all at once. 

He remembered getting high with her and not much else except the heaviness of their breathing. The soft creak of bedsprings. The curve of her hip under his hand. Their mouths had tasted like cigarettes and molly and he'd been overcome by how real it all was, how intrinsic honesty became when two people were naked together. 

There was a reason he'd only done it while he was stoned out of his mind: intimacy like that was far too powerful otherwise. 

He didn't like thinking about Shayla but he didn't want to forget her, either. He was torn between keeping the mindless sketches of her that manifested in the pages of his notebook and tossing them. Both choices seemed unfair to her. 

"We've screwed up a lot," Mr. Robot said, "but what happened to her? We couldn't have predicted that. This is one of the few times we aren't responsible." 

"Shut up." 

"I said it's  _not_ our fault--"

"Please, stop." Thinking about Shayla was hard enough, but talking about one dead loved one with another was too much. 

Mr. Robot had the nerve to look mildly concerned. "Fine, I'll-- duck out for a bit. You pull yourself together, or what's left of you, or whatever." 

And then Elliot had the cell to himself. 

The peace and quiet was an illusion. He knew that. He could try as hard as he wanted to rewire his brain and debug himself, but it was moot. He would never be truly alone. 

He looked over the drawings. Blue lines intersected with the light grey etchings of graphite. 

For a guy who had to share his brain with someone else, he felt extraordinarily lonely. 

-

Leon found him on the bleachers later that day, as he'd known Leon would. They both took routine seriously. 

"If I pissed you off, you can tell me," Leon said. "Was it about the porn thing? 'Cause I don't really have a concept of TMI and you seem like you treat your middle name like a nuclear launch code, so if I step on your toes again you can just clock me one, cool?"

Elliot kept his eyes on the basketball court. "Don't have a middle name," he replied, and smiled the tiniest bit when Leon laughed. 

"You're quiet but you can be real sharp, cuz." Leon clapped him on the shoulder and Elliot took a breath to keep from flinching. "But yeah, I wasn't trying to tease you or nothing. I was thinking the more we know each other, the better we can look out for each other." 

Heat crept up Elliot's neck. "You don't have to look out for me." 

Leon snorted. "'Course I don't have to, we're in fucking prison. But have you ever entertained the idea that I  _want_ to?" 

Elliot hadn't entertained that idea, actually, and it was a strange one to think about. Not due to anything related to Leon, no, it was all Elliot. He kept to himself because he didn't know how to talk to people, sure, but it also seemed like a waste of time. You let someone in, you got close, you started caring, and then they moved on. That had been the rinse-and-repeat cycle of Elliot's life since he could remember. It had been better in the long run to just sever that habit at the root. 

But then there were people like Darlene, like Angela, like Tyrell and like  _Shayla_ , who just wouldn't stay away. Bad things happened to people who wouldn't stay away. It always felt like it was his fault. 

"You don't have a lot of people on the outside, do you?" Leon guessed. 

"A few." His sister, who he forgot was his sister sometimes. His childhood friend, who was basically MIA. A ridiculously powerful business executive who may or may not have been dead, and it may or may not have been Elliot's doing. Mr. Robot, Elliot decided, did not count. 

"So why not have somebody on the inside, you know?" Leon leaned back against the bleachers, arms spread out. The tips of his fingers brushed Elliot's shoulder. "I dunno if you realize this, but your ass would be sold for a pack of cigarettes like that--" he snapped his fingers-- "if you tried going solo. You know that, don't you?" 

Elliot rolled his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause I'm sure these guys want a skinny bug-eyed hacker as their prison bitch." 

It was Leon's turn to scoff, apparently. "Nah, you pretty cute, Elliot."

Elliot wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but that wasn't anywhere in his ballpark of ideas. "Huh?" 

"Yeah." Leon gave him a once-over and nodded decisively. "Kinda like Bambi." 

That managed to pull a laugh from Elliot's chest, and Leon grinned. 

"Just lemme look out for you, yeah? Otherwise I'll keep worrying about you dropping soap or getting tattooed in your sleep." 

Elliot stared at his palms, traced the deep lines in them. He wondered if Leon had even the slightest clue how fucked he was in the head. He wondered if Leon  _should_ know, and if he should, where to start? How could he confide in someone else about what he barely understood himself? 

He'd start small, he supposed. Take it one thing at a time. 

"It's overwhelming," he said, and then backtracked for a second. "Porn, I mean. Sex. It's too much at once and I can't let myself go the way everybody else can. Too many variables, too little control, it's... it makes me nervous. That's why." 

Leon looked slightly stunned, but he also appeared to have just confirmed a hypothesis. "So you  _are_ ace," he said. 

Elliot was dumbfounded. "What?" 

"I didn't wanna ask considering I'd kinda gone too far already, but--" 

"Wait, you-- you knew?" He was more hung up on Leon's prior knowledge about it in general, if he was being honest.

"I took an educated guess, yeah. I mean, it makes sense." Leon clapped him on the shoulder again, but with less force behind it this time, and Elliot didn't feel the need to move away. "It's all good, cuz. I told you, I don't judge. We're all jut trying to get by the best we can, and whatever way you gotta do that is your business. Nobody should be thinking they got the right to stop you." 

Elliot's heart was impossibly light despite its hammering. He wasn't sure what to say. He knew he had to say something. 

"Thanks." He hoped it sounded genuine because he really meant it. 

"Yeah, no worries." Leon gave him a soft nudge. "And you know what? No porn means more time for  _Seinfeld._ "

_"Fuck."_

Leon was howling with laughter and drumming his hands on the bleacher bench with excitement, and Elliot found himself remarkably at ease with the world, even if it was just these few moments. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://genius.com/Frank-ocean-white-ferrari-lyrics)   
>  _You dream of walls that hold us in prison_   
>  _It's just a skull, least that's what they call it_   
>  _And we're free to roam_   
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the end to Elliot's massive drug trip wasn't real either, what was it _actually_ like?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise early update! (i hope this isn't crap??? if it is please don't tell me i want to remain in this oblivion)  
> the third chapter, unfortunately, will still be put out _next_ sunday (september 18), because i haven't even started outlining it yet wow  
>  idk why but when i was editing the tags they got all jumbled up and it's pissing me off but it's really not a big deal i just needed to VENT i'm sorry  
> y'all know elliot, y'all know he fucks with a lot of drugs. this chapter is, as it is abundantly clear, quite focused on that. i feel like y'all know what you're getting into already so i'm gonna end this here

_“Take it easy with that dosage, cuz. I ain’t your keeper, and I damn straight ain’t gonna be your reaper neither, you dig? What kinda problem you trying to solve anyway?”_

_“I’m fine.”_

_“You know, that’s what you always saying, man.”_

-

A gradual increase in dosage hadn't been on Elliot's mind. He wasn't sure how much he took, but it definitely was more than what was wise. It didn't matter much at this point, though; he was still trapped to the beaten tile next to the toilet while Leon guarded the door. 

He'd gone through withdrawals in the past, sure, and he'd done some regrettable things for drugs, too. But going through an overdose on the bathroom floor of a prison? Yeah, that definitely took the cake. 

"I really think I should get somebody, Elliot," Leon said. His sneakers scuffed nervously against the tile. "I told you, I ain't gonna be your reaper." 

"I'm fine," Elliot managed to choke out before-- yep, there went the rest of the pills.

"For  _some_  reason, cuz, I ain't buying it." There was a soft rattle of the metal lock being fussed with. "I'm coming in." 

"No, don't." 

"Too bad, no such thing as privacy in jail." 

The lock unlatched and the door swung open. It was a bit cramped with two people in a single stall, and Elliot had been feeling claustrophobic enough _before_ Leon came in. 

"You got the shakes, huh." Leon knelt down and put a hand on Elliot's trembling back. Elliot went rigid. "Clammy, too. You feel cold?"

Elliot shook his head and regretted moving. Everything ached, everything made the nausea worse, everything was spinning and tilting in awful circles and he couldn't get away from any of it. 

"This wasn't supposed to happen." He didn't know whether he was speaking to Leon or to the toilet seat under his cheek. "It wasn't supposed to be like this." 

"I kinda put that together." Leon was running his hand up and down the ridges of Elliot's spine now, his palm radiating warmth. Elliot couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like this. 

They sat quietly for a few minutes. The only sounds were the  _dripdripdrip_  of a leaking sink faucet and the rhythm of Elliot's labored breaths as he fought the urge to dry-heave. He heard a set of footsteps outside and first thought it was an inmate coming in for a piss. Then he glanced back and saw a well-known pair of worn-down shoes from underneath the stall door. 

 _No_ , Elliot's brain screamed while the rest of him surrendered.  _No, no, no._

"Since when has drugging yourself ever solved anything, kiddo?" A voice, agonizing in its familiarity, echoed through the bathroom. Elliot screwed his eyes shut. His lower lip wobbled with the threat of a breakdown. 

"Hey, hey." Leon spoke louder than Mr. Robot and with more conviction. "Slow down there, okay? No use getting upset over something you can't control." 

"I should be able to," Elliot said, before he realized Leon was talking about the drug overdose and not the hallucination speaking to him from outside the stall. 

"You're putting way too much pressure on yourself, cuz. You tried to fix whatever's going on with you, and it didn't work. That's the nature of human error for you. You live and you learn." 

Elliot didn't want to learn from his mistakes. He wanted to stop making them. 

After a few beats of silence, Leon asked, "You used to be an Auntie Em kinda guy, right?"

"Yeah... why?"

"'Cause I just remembered, there's this one episode of  _Seinfeld,_ " Leon began, and Elliot allowed himself the liberty of groaning out loud. "Hold on, lemme finish! It's real funny, okay-- so Elaine's going on a trip to Kenya with her boss, but she has to take a urine test first, right? And she ends up testing positive for opium, and she's like,  _what?_  Turns out, it's fuckin' crazy, cuz, the  _poppy seed muffins..._ " 

He was sure Leon continued talking but he was too dazed to keep following along. To be fair, though, he wasn't trying that hard. He was shaking something fierce, his blood pressure was low, and he was cramping up and sick to his stomach. He didn't need to hear the words to be comforted by Leon's voice right now. The mere cadence of it calmed him, provided a strange sense of security. 

"--and Kramer buys this high-pressure shower head that's made for elephants, and when he tries to use it he gets blown outta the tub." 

The corners of Elliot's mouth turned up. "Wild," he said, only fatigue in his voice and no sarcasm. 

"Right? I'll have to show that one to you sometime." 

Leon was trying so hard to serve as a distraction, and the odd thing was that it was working. The pain was there and he was completely wiped out from it, but the urge to cry had dissipated. 

"How you doing?" Leon asked. 

"Not good." 

"You ready to get outta this stall, at least?" Leon was already on his feet, motioning for Elliot to stand too. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up." 

He kind of wanted to stay there and see if he could dissolve into the cracks between the tiles, but he didn't think that idea would vibe with Leon. He swiped his sleeve over his eyes and took Leon's hand, swaying as he tried to reorient himself. After he splashed some water on his face and reaffirmed the reality of his existence while he stared at his pale reflection in the mirror above the sink, the two of them headed for the cellblock. 

The walk back fell just short of a disaster; Elliot could barely put one foot in front of the other, let alone maintain a straight line. Leon wanted to throw him over his shoulder and carry him, but there were too many guards that would ask questions if they did that. Questions were not a risk worth taking, not when Elliot had one foot in a drug trip.

The cot in his cell wasn't comfortable but it was miles beyond the harsh tile floor that had been grating into his knees, and he sunk onto the mattress with an exhausted exhale.  

"Shoes off before you pass out on me," Leon said.  

"Not gonna pass out." 

"Uh huh."  

Elliot toed off his sneakers with his eyes closed in an attempt to stave off the dizziness and then curled back up on the bed. He was vaguely aware of Leon tugging at the blanket pinned beneath him, but he was too worn out to move. Soon the sheets were freed and draped over him, and Elliot was so out of it that he barely registered that he was being tucked into bed like he was five. 

"You're alright, cuz," Leon said. "You think I'm hooking you up with any other hard shit then you shit outta luck, but you're alright." 

Elliot wanted so badly to open his eyes and see Leon, to reassure himself that this was real, but he felt he would slip back into that near-breakdown state if he saw Mr. Robot in the room with them. And, now that he thought about it, Mr. Robot's existence was proof enough that sight didn't always equal reality. He could go through life blind and it would all be the same. He would be just as unsure, just as unsteady, searching to regain footing he'd never had to begin with. 

But his brain wouldn't create someone like Leon. There was no underlying malice or ulterior motive. Leon was genuine to such a degree that Elliot was certain his subconscious didn't conjure this up. It couldn't have. Honesty wasn't a familiar enough concept for it to be manipulated. 

"You don't have to stay," Elliot mumbled into the limp pillow beneath his head. "You said it yourself, you're not my keeper." 

"I wouldn't trust you alone in a padded room, you're so fucked up right now." The edge of the cot dipped with new weight; Leon must have sat down at the foot of the bed. "You're not getting rid of me that easy. And whatever's plaguing you, man, whatever made you want those pills-- I'm not letting that get rid of you, either." 

Even though Elliot had kept his eyes closed, they were starting to feel wet. 

"I know you don't say much, but if you ever wanna talk about what's eating at you, I'm all ears." 

His heart rate was out of control and he wanted to run. He had no destination in mind, no real purpose, but the urge to sprint farther and farther away was almost painful to bear. And at the same time he felt held down by his own body, his own skeleton acting as a lead weight. He was so, so heavy, and all he could think of was what a relief it would be to  _not_  be this way. To not be himself. 

"You got no idea what you'd be in for," he replied. 

"Yeah, that's kinda why I'd be down to listen if you wanna share. All this shit that's going on with you, it's way over my head. But I know it's happening, and I wanna understand it." 

"Why?" 

"'Cause I wanna understand  _you_ , you jackass." 

_Oh._

Elliot didn't say anything for a while. He counted his breaths, trying to slow himself down. He opened his eyes when the vertigo seemed to have faded and was met with the off-white wall next to the bed.

"You sleep like the dead, cuz," Leon told him. "You feeling any better?"

He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep. Time was a gooey dripping mess that wasn't reliable for much. "I feel like I got hit by a bus." 

"Probably should've expected that answer." Leon stood up and the mattress springs whined at the movement. "I dunno about you, but I gotta eat, and you don't look like you'll choke on your tongue if I leave you alone anymore, so--" 

"You can go, I'm okay," Elliot promised.

"No, no, I'm coming  _back_ , don't get it twisted." Leon lingered in the doorway, hanging on the iron bars. "You want me to bring you something?"  

"No." 

"I'm gonna get you something." 

"Leon--"

"Nope, your scrawny ass needs some food, end of story. I'll catch you in a few, cuz."

Elliot didn't lift his head but he heard Leon's footsteps echo down the hall. He rolled over, wincing at the soreness in his muscles that permeated into his bones, and found that Mr. Robot was nowhere in sight. The relief that washed through him was so powerful it nearly knocked out the pain entirely. He hadn't noticed the tension in his body until it leaked from his pores. He sunk deeper into the bed, curled tighter around the blanket, let go of his weight until he felt like nothing at all, and it was wonderful.  

True to his word, Leon returned a little while later with instant ramen, saltines, and a deck of cards. They sat on the floor of Elliot's cell playing spades, but Elliot knew Leon just wanted to make sure he actually ate what was in front of him. 

The guard for their cellblock called for the five-minute warning until lights out, and Leon's eyes met Elliot's, brown on blue, asking  _you'll be okay tonight?_ without speaking a word. Elliot nodded even though he wasn't certain by any means, and Leon gathered up the cards. 

"See you in the morning, Elliot," Leon said, and reached out to bump their knuckles as a goodbye gesture. 

Leon lingered there for a raw, saturated blur of a moment; his fingers curled under Elliot's fist, thumb running over the back of Elliot's hand. 

Then the moment ended. If it had even been real in the first place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "Auntie Em" is a street name for morphine. 
> 
> \- the episode of Seinfeld that Leon talks about is legit-- it's called "The Shower Head," and it's the 16th episode of the 7th season. i even watched some clips of it on youtube and it's. it's an experience. interpret that as you will


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon meets Mr. Robot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot to do with Elliot's mental health and the way Dissociative Identity Disorder works with him as an individual, which is why I'm laying this down right now: none of this chapter is to say that other people's experiences are invalid. DID is super complex and presents itself in many different ways. (And as an additional disclaimer, I do not have DID, so I'm obviously not a leading authority on it whatsoever.)
> 
> The way I understand Elliot's situation is that he and Mr. Robot are more or less _co-conscious_ \-- meaning they are aware of one another and communicate with each other. I say 'more or less' because co-consciousness also implies a lack of memory black-outs, and Elliot _does_ experience those sometimes, which is why it's a little ambiguous as to what the relationship between Elliot and Mr. Robot is. 
> 
> I did a heck-ton of research, so if y'all are interested in reading up on it and what DID is probably like for Elliot, I've put the sites I used in the end notes.

He hadn't meant for it to happen. 

He'd only been released from the infirmary a week ago; the throbbing underneath the bruises on his body was still there. One of his eyes still saw things in a slight blur. It still ached to breathe in deep. 

Then that douchebag from the church group had promised some "one-on-one time," and while it didn't feel as threatening with Leon at his side when it happened, he was scared. He wasn't strong, and he couldn't run in the state he was in, and he didn't think his body could handle another beating so soon. 

That is, if it  _was_ a beating that was in mind. Elliot wasn't certain that's all it would be. 

He was strung out and anxious-- the kind where his hands shook and his lungs seemed to shrink in size. He couldn't afford to rest because that meant letting his guard down, and that's when the shadows disguised as people slithered out from the cracks in the walls and grabbed him. 

He was fucking exhausted. 

"You gotta take a break, kiddo," Mr. Robot murmured to him. His hand was on Elliot's shoulder, warm and inviting, a way it hadn't been until Ray's colleagues had beaten Elliot to a pulp. "You're running on fumes. Let me look out for you for a little while." 

No, Elliot told him, no, because Mr. Robot was the reason he'd gotten his ass kicked in the first place. It wouldn't have happened if Mr. Robot hadn't taken up Ray's deal, if they both had minded their own business and weren't sucked into the unreality of binary codes and Bitcoin. 

So no, Elliot repeated, the firmness in his string of thoughts ringing in his head. Mr. Robot could kindly go fuck himself. 

"You haven't slept in days, Elliot." 

Whatever. 

"What am I gonna do, huh? We severed the one link to the outside world. I just--" softer now-- "I just wanna take care of you." 

He knew he needed this. He knew because it was a take-it-easy Sunday morning and he was in the rec room with Leon, both of them sprawled out on the moth-eaten couch in front of the static-laden television, and he wasn't calm at all. Even when the universe was telling him this was safe, this was comfortable, his brain was going at warp speed with fear. There were cracks forming in his body where his thoughts grew too big. He needed this or else he would burn. He would turn to dust. 

He was afraid to fade out like this, but he was more afraid of what would happen to him if he didn't. 

So he told Mr. Robot  _okay_ and drifted off to nowhere in particular, getting settled in a dark recess of his mind, and let his consciousness slip under black waters. 

-

They co-habited most of the time, Elliot at the controls and himself making passive (occasionally aggressive) commentary. In certain moments he forced his way to the front if Elliot was struggling, or hurt, or simply not doing what _he_ wanted to do. 

He wasn't too proud of that last part.

But this? This _voluntary_ surrender of power where Elliot disappeared into a back room somewhere, leaving him to do... whatever?  Yeah, this was rare. He hadn't even been in charge during that whole Adderall fiasco; he'd just sat and watched Elliot spiral into a trip and then puke up the pills and then take them again, and eventually he'd been wrapped in a fog so dense that he couldn't see his hand outstretched in front of him.

He'd been cruel when Elliot took those drugs. But could you blame him? Wouldn't you be hurt if someone you loved tried to kick you out? 

That had been a bad couple weeks. 

Different, though! It had been different than this. _He'd_ been the one going under, the one dropping off the planet for an indeterminate amount of time for Elliot's sake. Now he felt alone in here, in charge of piloting this disaster, and it was still for Elliot. 

Most of everything he did was for Elliot. 

That was probably stupid of him, because he was pretty sure Elliot only begrudgingly tolerated him-- and that was an  _upgrade_ from what their relationship had been before. 

He hoped Elliot didn't see him as his dad. That wasn't who he was, he didn't think. 

As he adjusted to this new point of view, he became more aware of the couch underneath him, the television, and the boy next to him. 

Leon. Mr. Robot knew Leon; he was one of Elliot's friends. 

It became clear to him then that these were dire straits. He could  _not_ fuck this up. 

He recognized the show on the TV from the times he'd watched it alongside Elliot and Leon. One of the characters-- Kramer?-- was putting butter on his face. 

Fucking ridiculous. 

Mr. Robot was grinning anyways. 

"Told you you'd like it, cuz," Leon said from his side of the couch. 

Shit! Did he have to respond as Elliot? If he  _was_ Elliot, he wouldn't talk, right? Right. Crisis averted. Thank Jesus the main personality in this brain didn't speak much. 

Twenty minutes became an hour, and an hour became two hours, and Elliot hadn't come back yet, and Mr. Robot didn't think he could keep pretending to be Elliot much longer. On the rare occasions he'd taken the wheel before, he hadn't been worried about holding up appearances. This time he was hyperaware of everything, overthinking even the slightest twitches of his fingers, and he wondered if this was how Elliot felt all the time; high-strung and restless, experiencing too much and too little at the same time.  

He tried hard to to make it work, he really did. 

"Something's off," Leon told him during dinner. "You're acting weird-- like, weirder than usual."

"I'm fine." 

"You said the same thing before you OD'd on Adderall, so forgive me for calling you out on your bullshit. What's going on?" 

Maybe it was the mention of the drugs and the fact that Mr. Robot hadn't totally gotten over it, or maybe he didn't want Elliot hiding from this boy anymore. In a makeshift city of liars and thieves, the one good soul had stepped out of the crowd and found Elliot. Kept him safe, too, in ways that Mr. Robot couldn't. 

Maybe Leon deserved to know. 

"I'm--" it was gonna sound crazy no matter which way he sliced it, but he and Elliot kind of already _were_ crazy. "I'm not Elliot." 

He couldn't believe such a simple statement held so much liberation. 

Leon's brow furrowed deep in confusion and suspicion. "You're right in front of me, cuz. I think I'd know if it wasn't you." 

"Not like that." How do you explain a disorder when you were one of the symptoms? How do you explain that you were created by someone else's brain, birthed like Athena from Zeus's head?

Here were the facts: Elliot was a severely mentally ill hacker who refused to take his medication. Elliot's mother was a raging bitch. Elliot lost his father. Elliot did not work through grief in a healthy way. Elliot either didn't realize or didn't care that illegal substances only exacerbated any underlying proneness to hallucinations. 

Fact: Mr. Robot was a product of Elliot's mind. 

Fact: That didn't mean Mr. Robot wasn't real. 

Where it became fuzzy was figuring out  _what_ he was, not the validity of his existence. He was definitely real, definitely a vital part of Elliot and his functioning. But neither he nor Elliot had an answer for what any of this meant for Mr. Robot. What was he? An alternate who happened to take the form of Elliot's deceased father? Who sometimes got a tug of deep paternal instinct whenever Elliot was hurt or upset? Who didn't hold Edward Alderson's memories but took that role when Elliot seemed to need it? 

Yeah, no, that was way too messy. 

This might have been a mistake. 

"Elliot?" 

Mr. Robot responded to the name on accident. "Huh?"

"You're leaving me hanging." 

Leon was smart; Mr. Robot knew that. So best-case scenario, Leon would get it and ask minimal questions. Worst-case... well, Elliot was used to being lonely. 

Mr. Robot took a breath, drummed his fingers on the table. Looked back up to see Leon still there, still waiting, patient as a saint. 

He rested his arms on the table and leaned closer like he was about to lay down the secret to life itself. 

"You ever heard of Dissociative Identity Disorder?"

-

When Elliot came back he was no longer in the room with the faded worn couch and the old television, and he was instantly on alert. 

He blinked into existence and found the stars staring back at him, dulled by faraway city lights. The reassuring cold metal of the bleachers underneath him came into focus, too, and when he looked over to his right he saw Leon-- seemingly in the middle of explaining the Greek myth behind  _Corona Borealis_ , which was a pretty normal topic as far as Leon's areas of knowledge seemed to go. 

Too much time had passed since he fell asleep. He'd only wanted to be out for a few minutes, or at the most until the  _Seinfeld_ binge had ended. He hadn't meant to drop out for hours on end because now he was floundering in what he didn't know, slipping through the fissures in his memory. It was the same thing that happened every time Mr. Robot took control, except this time Elliot couldn't be mad. He'd agreed to this. This free-fall into another memory lapse had been his choice. 

And Leon must have realized in those hours that something was different. He was Leon. Leon didn't  _not_ notice things. 

Elliot said his friend's name and his voice was too loud for his ears. 

The look on Leon's face was enough to confirm what Elliot had never, ever wanted. Leon didn't just have an idea, no, he knew  _exactly_ what was going on.

"Back on earth, huh, cuz?" 

Elliot's heart plummeted into his ankles. For a moment, breathing became impossible through the crushing embarrassment. He wanted to cry, and the stinging sensation behind his eyes told him that it was a solid possibility. 

He needed to get away. Right now. 

He stood and climbed down over the bleachers as quick as his buckling knees would allow, wishing he still had his hoodie so he could hide, so he could counteract the agonizing nakedness that accompanied the spilling of secrets. The soles of his shoes hit the hard concrete on the blacktop with each step, echoing in his ears, and it seemed like the prison was being pulled taught by large corset strings with the way he felt trapped, devoid of any breathing room, and for the first time in a while he really,  _really_ wanted to die. 

"Elliot, hey-- hold up a second--" 

He yanked away from the familiar palm on his shoulder. His skin was crawling, he felt like throwing up, he was everywhere and nowhere at once and where the  _fuck_ was Mr. Robot now? 

Of course he'd choose to be absent for the aftermath. 

"Don't--" He drew back, the yellowing grass crunching under his weight until he was leaning against the brick wall. He covered his eyes with the heels of his hands, an easy way of shielding his face and his body at the same time. It was almost as good as disappearing. "Don't touch me, please don't touch me." 

"Okay, okay, I won't." Leon's tone was much calmer than Elliot had expected. "You're calling the shots here, man. Just tell me what to do." 

Elliot sank down until he was sitting with his legs pulled close to him. This wasn't a panic attack; he didn't get those. This was pure, undiluted shame. 

Leon had sat down in the grass too. He wore that same expression he'd had when Elliot was puking his guts up during the Adderall overdose. Elliot still didn't get all that it meant. It was more than plain worry. 

"You're scared about what happened," Leon guessed. 

Elliot shook his head. 

"... You're worried that  _I'm_ scared about what happened." 

Elliot nodded and willed the tears not to come, but they were already spilling down his cheeks. 

"Hey, you're good, it's okay." Leon sounded hesitant, unsure, a little at a loss of what to do without the permission to touch. "Elliot, look at me." 

He pressed the heels of his hands harder into his eyes in a weak display of defiance. The one with the bruising around it throbbed dully. 

"Elliot, c'mon." 

Elliot stayed right the fuck where he was. 

"You want me to be honest? Fine. It weirded me out. 'Cause it was you, your face, your voice, everything, but I was talking to a stranger. And I knew you weren't pulling some shit 'cause you don't do that, you know? So yeah, it was kind of a trip at first. Kinda freaked me out. Is that what you wanted to hear?" 

Elliot brought one of his hands down, peeked through his fingers like a child. Like looking between the bars of a cage. 

"But like I said, that was only at first. The other guy you got inside your head, he's real good at explaining things. A real talker, too, once you get him going." Leon gave him a gentle grin. "Seems like he's the type to run his mouth a lot, huh?" 

"He wasn't supposed to tell you," Elliot croaked. 

"Yeah, I figured. I thought about not asking, but you weren't acting like you and I wanted to know what was up. And it turned out you weren't acting like you 'cause you  _weren't_ you. That would've been good to know." 

"I'm sorry." Tears continued to well up and cling to his lashes. "I didn't want you to find out, I thought..." 

"That I'd bail on you if I knew?" 

Elliot didn't say anything. 

"We're all sick, cuz, one way or another. Your kind of sick just happens to be different from most. Like, sure, seeing your dad who isn't really your dad and who's also sometimes you? That's fuckin' nuts, I'll give you that--" Leon paused when the tiniest fracture of a smile tugged at Elliot's mouth, and smiled back-- "but honestly? It explains a lot. And it doesn't scare me." 

The unspoken words hung in the air and made it easier for Elliot to breathe: 

_I'm not leaving you._

Elliot let his hands fall from his face and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jumpsuit. He felt shaky and cold; the same way it felt after you missed a stair going down. 

"I'm sorry you had to--" Elliot fumbled for the right words-- "to deal with him. I never meant for you to..." 

There was a split second of confusion on Leon's face before it resolved itself. He scooted through the grass until he and Elliot were shoulder-to-shoulder against the brick wall. 

"He's real important to you, yeah?" 

Elliot hesitated before nodding. 

"Then I'm glad I met him." 

Elliot stared at Leon, not knowing what to say or how to say it. Leon shrugged like meeting an alternate personality was a regular occurrence and Elliot realized how little he understood the person next to him, how fucking lucky he was to have someone like Leon in a place like this and being the way he was. 

"Can I ask what it's like?" Leon asked. "I mean, you don't have to answer if you don't want--" 

"It depends on who you're talking to," Elliot said, and he surprised himself with the levelness of his voice. "Most of the time, for me, he's... in the background, making comments. He talks to me a lot. But I'm still Elliot. He usually doesn't take control like that, but when he does... it's like I black out. Like that time never existed." 

"Isn't that scary?" 

"Frustrating," Elliot amended. "Retracing footsteps you didn't even know you'd taken. It's like if you lost your keys, but you didn't remember that your keys are what you're looking for. You're just... stumbling around in the dark until you hit something."

They sat watching the stars for a while longer. Leon probably saw every constellation, while Elliot made his own patterns. 

"The pills," Leon began slowly. "You were trying to get rid of him." 

He thought he'd burned through all his shame, but apparently some remained to be scraped out of his insides. "Yeah." 

"How are you guys now, then? You on better terms?" 

Movement over to his right drew his eyes away from the sky. Mr. Robot stood by the doors, watching Elliot the same way Elliot had been watching the stars. There was a kind of relief on his face, too, a kind Elliot couldn't understand. 

"We're doing alright," Elliot said, and he saw Mr. Robot smile. 

-

Soon they were herded back inside to get ready for lights out, and Elliot was already preparing himself for another sleepless night. He wasn't sure how many more days he could go without rest, but he'd rather run himself into the ground than give someone else the chance to do it for him. 

As he was about to turn into his cell, though, Leon took his wrist. 

"Stick with me." 

Elliot frowned. "We're not allowed to--" 

"Just stick with me, okay? I bribed the guard with cigarettes and fetish porn, he's cool with it." 

So Elliot, a tad struck dumb, trailed behind Leon to his cell. 

"Your guy said you wore yourself down, staying up every night," Leon told him, and Elliot's ears turned red. "And that you ducked out the way you did 'cause you were so tired. I thought not being alone would help you sleep some."

Leon had one thing wrong: Elliot was never alone. 

"Thanks," he murmured. "I can take the floor--" 

"Are you fuckin' crazy? You sleep on the floor and your back'll twist up like a pretzel." 

"So what, you wanna spoon on a prison cot?"

"Obviously." 

Yeah, Elliot barely understood Leon at all. 

Leon's body was warm, warmer than the cheap wool blankets or the translucent sheets, and Elliot was surprised when the stifling feeling that usually partnered with physical contact never came. Leon had one arm flung over Elliot's torso, keeping him close, and Elliot felt the rise and fall of Leon's chest against his spine. It was so comforting it almost brought him to tears all over again. 

"Leon?"

"Yeah." 

"What was your dad like?"

After a few beats of silence that held years of memories, bitter and sweet alike: "He was the best. Really looked out for me, you know? He'd be so broken up if he knew I was in here..." Leon paused. "He died when I was a kid. Too much exposure to radioactivity at his job." 

Elliot's breath caught in his throat. "Evil Corp?" 

"Yeah." 

Rage bubbled in his stomach, hot and nauseating. "Mine, too." 

Maybe he imagined it, but Leon seemed to hold him a little tighter. "They'll get theirs, cuz. Don't you worry." 

Elliot knew they would-- knew they  _had_. 

For the first time in far too long, he slept through the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A general overview of DID: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dissociative_identity_disorder
> 
> Different kinds of switches and what they feel like, as told by people with the disorder: http://www.psychforums.com/dissociative-identity/topic71514.html
> 
> Possible triggers for a personality switch: http://www.healthyplace.com/abuse/wermany/known-triggers-that-cause-switching/
> 
> Co-awareness / co-consciousness: https://www.facebook.com/AwarenessforDID/posts/700608983300929
> 
> Difference between co-consciousness and co-hosting, once again described by those with the disorder: http://www.psychforums.com/dissociative-identity/topic99350.html
> 
> The _Seinfeld_ episode referenced in this chapter is Season 9, Episode 1, titled "The Butter Shave." Clips can be watched here (this show is so bizarre you guys I don't even): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_F4DTGx6AMo 
> 
> Corona Borealis: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corona_Borealis#Mythology


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings were never easy. It was a good thing this wasn't one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was nuts i'm cry  
> i'm gonna be real with y'all i started writing it on friday and it is currently sunday morning at 1am and i have yet to beta-read lmao  
> but really what a wild ride!! this was super fun and a very nice break from my usual supernatural garbage  
> based on my frequency in producing mr. robot stuff in the past i'll probably see y'all this time next year oops sorry

Elliot wasn't too great at beginnings, but he was even worse at endings.

He wrung his hands and chewed on his lip, waiting for the words to come uncaught from the ridges in his throat. They wouldn't come. They refused, like petulant children. They stayed right where they were, hooked on his ribs and stuck to his lungs. 

Elliot wished he could stay, too. 

He watched Leon and his eyes felt weighted, as if sight came with a heavy price. 

"Uh--" 

Leon's hands paused their movement when the syllable left Elliot's mouth, and Elliot wanted so badly to take it back, to ravel it up and shove it back inside wherever the hell it came from. 

"No way a space cadet like you's squeamish around needles, are you?" 

Elliot shook his head and chose to focus on the makeshift tattoo gun held in Leon's fingers instead of Leon's face. The outline of a character Elliot recognized from  _The Boondocks_ was gradually materializing on Leon's forearm, one dot at a time. 

"No, it's-- um--" His gaze dropped to his own hands, fidgeting in his lap. It was embarrassing, being so distressed over something that anyone else would find a relief. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Just spill," Mr. Robot encouraged. He sat on Leon's bed with his back against the wall, observing Elliot's slow downward spiral. "Just do it, Elliot. He's gonna find out one way or another. You might as well be the one who tells him." 

Elliot's stomach was in somersaults. He feared, for a moment, that he might make himself sick unless he got this off his chest. 

"I'm getting out early," he mumbled, "week and a half, they're letting me go." He was ashamed and grief-stricken, and he hated that he'd given himself a reason to feel that way. He knew what happened when he people got close, but here he was, stuck in the same mistake he'd made time and time again.

Leon stopped. Set down the needle-tipped pencil. The change in him was so subtle yet so profound that it almost drove Elliot to tears. Leon was shattered and still trying to hold it together for _Elliot's_ sake, and Elliot had no clue how to fix this. There could have been a crack struck through the concrete floor, this break between them was that tangible. 

The smile Leon gave was even more painful. "Nice going, cuz." 

"I'm sorry," Elliot began, voice wobbling and teetering on the edge of losing control, and Leon waved for Elliot to stop. 

"What's there to be sorry for? Don't be sorry." 

"But I  _am_ ," Elliot protested, and there it went: his control, taking an extravagant swan dive. "I don't--" 

"--wanna leave?" Leon finished for him. "Anybody else would be over the fuckin' moon if they got early parole. Why're you all misty-eyed?" 

Elliot ducked his head and went quiet, unable to say more. 

"It ain't 'cause of me, is it?" 

Elliot wanted to shrink into himself, vanish out of existence into a black hole. There was nothing to be done; it wasn't like he could stay, not just because of legalities but because there were people inside who wanted to hurt him, and if he didn't get the hell out now then he never would. Living was tough, sure, and Elliot wasn't particularly good at it, but being shivved by an inmate was not how Elliot wanted to die. 

"Elliot." 

Leon's hands were always a shock to Elliot with how soft they were. They lacked calluses, bruises, scars-- what you'd assume a prisoner to have on the pieces of themselves that wrought the most destruction. But not Leon's. There was a purity and tenderness to them that was unnatural in a place like this, unnatural for a boy who was put in a place like this, and when they cupped Elliot's face he felt like the two of them were somewhere else. Somewhere better.

"C'mon, at least look at me." 

Elliot didn't really have another choice, considering Leon was holding his face in his hands. He blinked back at Leon, lashes dampened with unshed tears, and Leon's mouth twitched. 

"You were right, cuz. You  _are_ a little bug-eyed." 

It took a moment for Elliot's muddied brain to respond, but then he mirrored Leon's shadow of a grin. 

"Don't worry about me, you hear?" Leon said. "You gotta take care of  _you_ when you leave." 

That had been the one thing Elliot appreciated about prison. The mind-numbing routine kept him sane even when all was bleak. When he left he'd be thrown back into the whirlwind of chaos outside the barred windows, and the stability he'd gained would dissolve into nothing. 

"I'm gonna go crazy out there," Elliot told him. He spoke with a plain bluntness, without worry, because worry was reserved for the unknown and his impending psychosis was as undeniable as gravity. You could separate yourself from it, you could launch yourself into space and float through the void, savor the peace and quiet, but eventually you would have to come back down. 

"You keep telling yourself that, then yeah, you will." Leon was closer now, close enough that their foreheads bumped together. "So don't fucking  _do_ that. You can't roll over and let it beat you. You gotta fight it, fight until your knuckles bust open. And then you gotta keep fighting." 

Elliot shook his head and his eyes, out of tune with the rest of his resignation, proceeded with their shedding of tears. "I can't." 

"Yes, you can." Leon's voice held so much certainty that Elliot nearly believed it himself. "C'mere." 

Leon wrapped his arms around Elliot's body and drew him in, one hand gripping the nape of his neck in a way that Elliot expected to shy from, but he didn't. He gave into the touch and let his head rest on Leon's shoulder as hot tears rolled over his cheeks. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Shut up, Elliot." There was no malice in it. "You and me, we're gonna be just fine." 

He held Elliot for a while, until that crawling sensation began to creep along Elliot's skin and made him pull away. This was the second time Leon had seen him cry like this, and that was two times too many. He didn't bother to wipe his eyes; he shouldn't have needed to. 

"How about I give you something? As a way to remember." 

Leon had that bright look on his face, the one that translated to a brilliant idea burning in his head-- Elliot was going to miss that look-- and Elliot's brow furrowed. It was difficult to keep up with Leon's train of thought, what with the dozens of emotions swirling through him. 

"Like what?" 

Leon picked up the stick-n-poke tattoo gun. "Depends how much you trust me." 

-

The pain wasn't that bad, but that could be attributed to the frequency at which he'd been through the grinder in the past. Needles barely even registered in your nerves after you've fallen on jagged rocks, gone through morphine withdrawal, and been beaten half to death in the span of a few months. 

He didn't look to see what Leon was doing because he wanted to prove his trust, so his focus wandered over the room, somehow always going back to Leon's face. The concentration in his eyes was intense, but his grip on Elliot's hand was feather-light. 

"You tryin'a burn holes in my skull, cuz?" 

Elliot immediately found a spot on the floor to look at. "Sorry." 

"I'm just playing with you, man, no worries." 

Mr. Robot peered over Elliot's shoulder, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. "A prison tattoo, Elliot? Really?" 

Yeah, a prison tattoo. What was  _he_ gonna do about it? 

"You have commitment issues, you impulsive nutcase, and tattoos are  _kind of_ permanent."

That was  _kind of_ the point. 

Elliot used to let himself forget a lot of things-- a lot of really important things-- but his time here wasn't going to be one of them, not when he had a person he needed to remember. 

"Can I ask about the other guy?" Leon glanced up at Elliot for a moment before turning back to Elliot's hand. 

"What about him?" 

"I mean... how's he feeling about you getting out? He's not bothering you, is he?" 

"He's always bothering me." 

"Hey!" Mr. Robot flicked Elliot's ear as Leon snorted. 

"Okay, fair point. I meant if he's trying to freak you out." 

Elliot and Mr. Robot stared at each other for a few moments, not speaking. Just thinking. It was a weird thing to be able to do with someone else. 

"He wants me back on task," Elliot said, never breaking eye contact with the man in his head. "We started a project a while ago and it's not done yet. He's anxious." 

" _Anxious_ ," Mr. Robot scoffed. "That's your thing, bud, not mine." 

"Not a fan of routine like you are, huh?" Leon guessed. 

"Yeah, total wild card." Elliot turned from Mr. Robot and resumed watching Leon-- with less intensity. "He likes you." 

"Does he?"

Elliot nodded. "Thinks you're good to have around."

"'Course I do," Mr. Robot said it like it was obvious. "I can only keep you so safe, you know? He's a solid plan B." 

Especially, Elliot added, on the occasions Mr. Robot was part of the problem. Then he realized how cruel that had been to say, and apologized. Mr. Robot flicked Elliot's ear a second time, but that was it. 

"You feel the same?" Leon asked, and Elliot nodded again. "I'm glad it's mutual all around." 

"Yeah, except we're busting outta here soon," Mr. Robot muttered, and Elliot's expression fell. 

"I'm gonna miss you," he said, unable to help but feel that whatever good the world gave him was too quickly taken away, and the bad seemed to linger like disease. He had to leave his silver lining behind concrete walls and iron bars, and none of it was fair-- to either of them. He wished his body would split the way his mind did so he could keep a part of himself here.

He'd give anything to keep Leon from learning loneliness the way he had.

"You're talking like we're never gonna see each other again, and that's bull," Leon said. "This city gets smaller every day, and I'll get my freedom soon. This ain't nothing but an intermission."

"I won't know how to find you."

"Patience, cuz." With a final pinprick of the inked needle, Leon set down the stick-n-poke gun. "We'll find each other. It'll just take some time."

Elliot finally looked down at his hand. Between his right thumb and forefinger lay six dots: four positioned to make a square, and two close together in the middle.  

"The outside four represent the prison," Leon explained, and Elliot noticed that Leon hadn't let go of his hand yet. "Usually guys'll have one dot in the middle as themselves, but--" 

"You and me," Elliot said, using his other fingers to trace over the slightly raised bumps. "That's why there are two." 

"Yeah." 

Elliot smiled, one of those soft ones you had to squint at to see, but it was there. 

"You like it?" 

"Yeah." There was a bittersweet taste on his tongue." Thanks, Leon." 

Leon let go of his hand and Elliot wished he hadn't. "No problem." 

"I mean for everything."

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since he was put in prison because he hadn't been counting down the days until his sentence was up, and he hadn't been counting down because hadn't cared, so he couldn't say how long he'd known Leon. He wasn't even sure he could say he knew Leon  _now._ But after the shit that had gone down inside these walls and the fact they'd stuck together through it all, Elliot decided that time didn't matter. It was the moments themselves, not their sum. 

"You're the one who let me in, man," Leon said. "And I gotta say, you're one of the weirdest motherfuckers I've ever met. But I'm damn glad I did."

Elliot didn't cry when Leon hugged him this time. 

-

A week later, just days short of Elliot's release, he was grabbed by the group of skinheads and hauled into a corner of the basketball court where the cameras couldn't see them. The whole punching in the face shtick was old news, but then they flipped him around and shoved him against the fence, and Elliot's blood ran cold.

He could hear the leader talking to him but couldn't make out the word over the buzzing in his ears. The sound of a jumpsuit zipper being undone seemed to simultaneously come from a great distance and far too close.

Elliot didn't scream. He closed his eyes and waited for it to end.

But as fate would have it, it ended up not getting a chance to start.  

His face was still pressed into the chain-link fence when the grip on him went slack in tandem with the sick squelching of metal slicing through skin. He knew he shouldn't look, but he did, because he never  _didn't_ look. 

He'd sort of known before he turned around, anyways. 

Leon told him he would get a letter on Tuesday, stabbed one of the skinheads in the ass, and then said for Elliot to tell Whiterose that Leon had done him good when he saw her. 

So Leon knew Whiterose. Elliot might have felt betrayed if he'd had it in him, or if what had transpired between him and Leon hadn't been as real as it had been-- so real that no part of Elliot's scrambled-egg brain could convince him otherwise. 

All of it was a blur, though, like he was listening through layers of radio static. None of it made sense, none of it would fully register, he was dazed and confused and he sought for the tattoo on his hand as a life-raft, a buoy in dark foreign waters, a fruitless attempt to stop feeling so  _lost_ \--

And then one thing, the last thing he'd hear Leon say, shone through the fog and rang loud and clear: 

_"I'll be rooting for you, cuz. Always."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Space cadet" is a slang term for a drug addict. 
> 
> _The Boondocks_ is an animated TV series based on the comic strip of the same name: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0373732/
> 
> Professional tattoos are done with tattoo guns, which actually have multiple needles in them. Stick-n-poke tattoos are with one tattoo or sewing needle, usually stuck through the end of a pencil, and wrapped with string to secure it. The needle is sanitized in boiling water or flame and then dipped in tattoo ink or non-toxic India ink. I myself have a stick-n-poke, they're real fun (as long as you take care of them as they heal). 
> 
> The tattoo that inspired Elliot's is a real prison thing: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Five_dots_tattoo
> 
> [As a side note: still not over the season finale, and while writing this chapter I realized the significance behind Leon's line that closed out the episode, "do you have the time?" and I'm _screaming_ ]

**Author's Note:**

>  _You dream of walls that hold us in prison_  
>  _It's just a skull, least that's what they call it_  
>  _And we're free to roam_  
>  (http://genius.com/10265673)


End file.
